The Lord of the Rings: The Follower
by chemqueen
Summary: When the Fellowship left the forest kingdom of Lothlorien, they had an unknown passenger with them: Naomi. She's more than the quiet maidservant she appears to be, and her buried secrets and past have the power to destroy their quest. [Discontinued]
1. Chapter One

Sorry, complications meant i had to reload.

Chapter One

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Lady Galadriel had sent her away early for the first time in, well, ever, and it was then that Naomi knew that something important was happening. She spent all of her time under the Lady of Lothlorien, and for her to be dismissed halfway through the day bespoke something of interest.

In all her years in Lothlorien, Naomi had served directing the lady. And in all of those years, she had spent the same amount of time folding linens, brushing hair, and setting out clothing. This, however, was different.

The very hallways spoke of great unrest. While usually Naomi roamed the halls alone, today they were alive with elves and humans, all of them convinced that their chore was more important than the next. Even those few who would have acknowledged her presence brushed past her in their hurry.

Naomi often felt herself ignored. She could even turn it to her own advantage, when she felt as if she couldn't bear any attention. At a thought, Naomi could blend into the walls, or tapestries, or anything that took her fancy as a good hiding place.

Thus, Naomi heard many things that she probably shouldn't have. She knew more secret ways through the wooded-city than someone who had lived there their entire life. Naomi was a secret-keeper, in a way. She knew more than she should, and stored it away for a future use that never came.

Although everyone rushed out of the tree-place into the square, Naomi found herself pushing against the tide towards her chamber in one of the smaller trees. She was the only human in direct service of the Lord or Lady, and because of it she lived in a somewhat different setting than her fellow species, or workers.

Her status also provided her with little companions. Her lack of friends or allies led to her discovery of her skills. It also meant that not many remembered her. This was incredibly useful.

Hardly pausing to wonder what had called all the ruckus, she finally arrived at her chamber. It was bare and small, but she had it to herself. This was more an act of exile than anything else; most elves would not be caught soiling themselves with the presence of a human.

Even if she was a maidservant of Lady Galadriel's.

She took a single look around the chamber, its small bed and even smaller wardrobe, and felt a deep pang in her chest for the familiar sight of the river flowing through the forest. Naomi turned away from the sight, and returned to the busy hustle and bustle.

The river was one of the best keep secrets of the woods. Naomi was sure that only she and the lady knew of it's existence – the lady because she used it's water for her mirror, and Naomi because she had stumbled upon it by accident. Naomi found most of her secrets by accident.

Naomi saw her closest friend of Lothlorien – not that that meant them to be incredibly close --, Manaeth, rushing past her with her arms full of bedding linens, mumbling to herself. Unlike the others, she noticed Naomi and stopped.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped. (Again, 'closest friend' didn't mean a lot). "Surely you, too, have chores. " Naomi was about to respond; her only chores were attending to Lady Galadriel, Manaeth knew that; but her friend stormed off, muttering about those who worked far less than they deserved.

Naomi, confused, walked after her friend in surprise. There was a large gathering of elves, mostly nobility, around the steps up to the palace. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel were standing at the top, looking for all the world like the loveliest pair of people to ever grace the planet.

She had planned to slip down the steps, and into the forest, but it was now blocked. Naomi turned and began to melt into the palace, determined to find another exit, but something in the air, humming along her skin, caused her to stop.

_Don't go,_ whispered a strange mind her head. It's voice was silky and winded like a serpent around her consciousness.

Then it vanished.

Somewhat mollified now that she knew of all the trouble, Naomi sunk into the background of palace. Manaeth rushed by her hiding place, still muttering, still clutching linens to her chest. Naomi silently thanked the grace of the Vala for her gift of hiding.

It held little place in her heart, but she knew that not believing in the Vala would make her even more of an outcast. Her disbelief was buried so deeply in her heart that she was sure even Galadriel could not pry the secret from her.

Suddenly a group of scruffy men appeared at the bottom of the steps. The first in Naomi's line of vision was a muddy and soiled-looking man with stringy hair. The way Lady Galadriel welcomed him; he was obviously someone of importance.

Naomi's nose wrinkled. Her time with the creatures of grace made her despise dirt with most of her soul.

Following close behind was another man, taller but nevertheless dirty, a miffed dwarf, four figures which were, if it was possible, even shorter than Naomi's five feet, and possibly the most beautiful elf Naomi had ever seen.

All were of desperate need of a bath, and Naomi had an inkling of pity for Manaeth's clean linen bed sheets.

She watched the elf with confusion. He was blonde and beautiful, and while slightly scruffy, still cleaner than his companions. His long hair gleamed. As his blue eyes slid over her hiding place she held her breath, but nothing came of it.

"Welcome, Fellowship of the Ring," smiled Galadriel, and with her incredible talent for understating, she had the entire group under her spell, including the hidden Naomi.

They exchanged pleasantries, and smiled and talked as if they were all old friends, but for the ten or so years that Naomi had been a servant of Lady Galadriel, she had seen none of them.

"But where is Lord Gandalf?" questioned Celeborn, and the fellowship grew silent. "I had wished to speak to him."

"Gandalf fell into the void," replied the leader, and the beautiful lord's face fell. Naomi's insides twisted painfully. She had always been particularly sensitive to the feelings of elves, having grown up around them but never being a part of them.

There was an awkward silence that seemed out of place with the bright trees and glittering elves. The small creatures shifted from left to right.

"My maidservant will show you to your rooms, and a fresh bath," smiled Galadriel, brightening the mood. She turned to the dark corner where Naomi was hiding and inclined her head slightly.

Shocked, Naomi twisted her head around her, but no one with the title of maidservant was near. The nobility fixed their impassive eyes on her.

Blushing red at the failure of her deception, Naomi stepped out of the shadows. There was a small hallway open between the elven bystanders, and she moved through it to the lady's side.

"Take them to the guest chambers," whispered Galadriel. Naomi's head, still flushed, nodded.

"It is alright, Lady Galadriel," spoke up the leader. "We see no need to trouble your servants unnecessarily. We can sleep on the forest floor." Naomi bit back her instinctive reply that the servants had already been troubled.

"Of course, whichever you prefer," nodded the lady. Naomi stepped down the steps and around the fellowship to guide them. The back of her neck itched, and she knew that her mistress was watching her leave.

_She doesn't like you_, whispered the traitorous voice in her head. Naomi was beginning to doubt that it was her own.

The tree-houses melted away, and they had left the palace grounds when the dwarf looked at her. "You're not an elf," he said, and though Naomi had no doubt he meant to say it softly, it echoed through the trees. She winced, and felt the tale-tell fire burn it's way from her neck to her forehead. Luckily she wasn't facing him, or the beautiful he-elf, or Naomi's entire body would have surely been drowned in the embarrassing color.

"I serve Lady Galadriel," she replied, and the words that were quietly shot out seemed to be accepted.

The color was still in place as, an eternity later, she led them into a glen that was used at times to set up tents for when the Lady Galadriel felt the need to sleep near her place of magic.

"I'll send Manaeth along with bedding and some tubs," she muttered, and made to flee. Fleeing seemed a proper choice of action for the current situation. Unfortunately, she had to flee right through the group. Her head down, to prevent the view of her pink face, she didn't see where she was going and bounced off the beautiful elf.

She twirled away in a motion that probably looked graceful but was really more of a fall. The elf's hand stopped her fall, his long fingers hooked around her fore arm, as she lay almost parallel to the ground. She scrambled up quickly, his hand still firmly attached to her arm. She pried the slim fingers off quickly, their incredible strength obvious. He was surely an archer.

Her face now approximately the color of berries, she flew out into the forest, towards the river that flowed away from the forest-city.

_Coward_, hissed the voice, and like a viper it stuck it's fingers deep into her mind and twisted. The pain was horrible, and Naomi collapsed on the forest floor. She clutched her head, the pounding and clinging shaking her vision and with it her balance.

She finally laid her head against the tree, and let the harsh bark scrape against her skin and cool her mind. The voice had vanished, like it had before.

_What's happening to me?_ her mind asked, and this time it was her own thoughts.

What indeed?

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Well, new fic.

All rejoice.


	2. Chapter Two

Many thanks to all of you who reviewed.

CHAPTER TWO

Naomi hummed to herself softly, keeping a steady beat as she folded Lady Galadriel's fresh clothing. With nothing in particular to worry her, her mind inevitably turned to these strange new guests of Galadriel's. They had been here for so long, and still there was no word of who they were. Perhaps in another court, this would not have raised comment, but the Lady of the Light was renowned for being honest with her subjects. That she had not told them anything gave rise to suspicion and jealously, particularly towards Naomi. Everyone assumed that one who had been a maidservant for so long would be admitted in the Lady's confidence, but nothing could be farther from the truth.

The laundry finally done, Naomi carefully laid all of Galadriel's linens in the appropriate drawer before leaving the quarters altogether. She strolled slowly down the hallway, relishing her momentary freedom. She was so peaceful, and at ease, that she was hard pressed not to scream when a soft voice asked her, "Who are you?"

Turning to look the speaker in the face, and nearly prepared to attack, she was relieved to see only the beautiful elf she had bumped into. No doubt he had forgotten, five days later. "I am a maid, for Galadriel," she said softly. Suddenly remembering that she had no idea who he was, or what he was like (but remembering what _men_ were like) she bowed her head and added a deferential, "my Lord."

He nodded in condescending acceptance of the title. "Very well. Then you will help me." It was no question. "Where are the Lady's quarters?"

Keeping her head bowed, but not so much as to seem foolish, she pointed in the direction she had come from. He nodded again, and started off in the route she had pointed him towards without so much as a thank-you. Rolling her eyes in disgust, she continued on her way.

Legolas smiled grimly as the sword came bearing down on his shield again. And again. And again. Finally, he stood, reached for a knife and charged. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he tickled the blade at his foe's neck. "So," he asked, in mock threatening tones, "had enough, Estel?"

The King of Gondor pushed him away, laughing and rolling his eyes. Legolas joined in, his body relaxing. As man and elf shook hands, the women who had gathered to watch collectively swooned. Aragorn rolled his eyes as Legolas abandoned his friend in favor of attention from his many fans. The king had settled his wooden practice sword into its slot and was starting to head back into the castle when Legolas's voice interrupted him. "Aragorn! Wait!"

Aragorn turned to face him, when he suddenly spotted a running figure just behind his friend. Holding his hands in front of his face, he obviously did not want to be recognized. But his long blonde hair, pointed ears and height…they only belonged to one person in Lothlorien. And that person, Legolas, was standing right in front of him. And had run right by him. Aragorn was normally a man who liked to think things out, but the time didn't seem to call for thinking. Ignoring everything his brain was shouting for him to do, he dashed past Legolas, after the running figure.

Legolas (the one Aragorn assumed was real—anything else would be too confusing) realized that the situation must be dire for his friend to act in such a reckless manner. In only a few moments, he had followed Estel, and had soon overtaken him. Not once pausing to look around him, he jumped the first person he saw; hopefully the one Estel was chasing. Legolas knew he was right when he dragged the person into the ground, obeyed the first rule of combat, looking into his enemy's face…. and saw his own.

Legolas fought in vain to control the impostor, but it was like battling with smoke. Every time Legolas tried to grab his head, force the charlatan to face him, the man would twist his body into impossible contortions, escaping yet again. Abruptly, Legolas understood that it wasn't just _like _fighting smoke; the man's body was literally disintegrating beneath him. With a sigh of disgust, he gave up and watched the man's body—_his _body—evaporate.

Aragorn arrived at his side, panting. Legolas indicated the area where he had jumped the man; the wood was burned and scored. Frowning, Aragorn knelt to examine the scars closer. His brow furrowing, he began to make out the words. "Dread beauty…shrink from pleasure?" His voice was uncertain, unintentionally forming a question.

Legolas had already begun to walk away, but the sound of his friends voice called him back. "What is it, Estel?"

His voice gaining confidence, Aragorn repeated himself. "Dread beauty, shrink from pleasure." He pointed to the scars on the floor, which were formed in an odd, twisting patter unlike anything Legolas had ever seen. "It's an ancient branch of Elvish."

Legolas frowned over his friend's shoulder, looking at the wood even though the gouges made no sense to him. Clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder, he forced a laugh. "Well, my friend, I'm sure neither one of us has any intention of dreading beauty or pleasure…" His voice was cut off as he suddenly heard a short, piercing shriek. "Did you hear that?"

Estel grimaced at him, clearly straining to hear. The sound was repeated, a little louder, as if the screamer had come closer. Aragorn nodded. "That time I heard it. Where was it coming from?" He scowled as Legolas gestured down a nearby corridor. "But that's where the servant's quarters are." Elf and man simultaneously began barreling down the passage.

As they ran, the screams increased in both volume and intensity. Time after time they came to an intersection in the halls, and had to rely on Legolas's hearing for which way to go. It was only when Aragorn himself could pinpoint the source of the sound when they knew they were surely getting close.

When they were convinced they were in the right hallway, they began to open each door, hoping to find the source of the sound. At this time of day, most of the servants' rooms were empty, but this one wasn't. Instead, it was occupied by a lone serving girl, unremarkable except for the fact that her mouth was open, her eyes screwed tight, and giving rise to the unearthly scream.

She was lying on the bed, and the stiffness of her body alone was cause for alarm. Though her face contorted and twisted, her pitifully slight figure remained as inflexible as the bed she lay on. Bending down over her, Legolas grabbed her shoulders, wincing slightly at the sharp bones that were digging into his hands, and began to shake her.

Naomi's eyes snapped open. Her throat felt parched and scratchy, as if she had been screaming for a particularly long time. But she had only settled down for a nap before lunch, why would she have been screaming? Finally looking up, she noticed the same Elf she had run into earlier, along with the grimy man who had been introduced to Galadriel with him. They were both managing to look at anything but her. Given the size of the room, it was quite a feat.

Finally, having had enough of silence, she cleared her throat. They both jumped and turned to face her. Keeping her voice soft so as not to irritate her throat, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

Whatever they had been expecting her to say, it certainly wasn't that. They frowned at her, and then the man licked his lips nervously and summoned up the will to speak. "You really don't know?" She nodded. The man turned to the Elf, as if to say, your turn. The Elf nodded to her, then spoke. His voice was soft, almost reverent, as if he were afraid she would break if he was too loud. Naomi found it extremely irritating. "We were in the practice yard—" At this point he and the man exchanged looks, and Naomi knew they were hiding something. "We were at the practice yard, and we heard screaming. I was able to trace the scream to the servants' quarters. Once we got to them, we began to look into every room we saw." He swallowed. "And when we opened your door…you were screaming."

Naomi stared at them disbelief. How could they expect her to believe that? If they were going to embarrass themselves by lying, they could at least concoct a better tale than what they had just told her. When she spoke again, her voice was like steel. "You thought it would be fun to tell me that?"

If they had looked uncomfortable before, it was nothing compared to how they looked now. The man opened his mouth to speak, but all he got out was a "Bunf" before the Elf overran him with a similarly unintelligible syllable. Naomi felt her anger building up and begin to explode, like rotting fruit.

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	3. Chapter Three

Okay, its kinda short, but I thought that you all deserved an update. So here it is.

Chapter Three: The Wine on the Wall

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"Really!" she snapped irritably. Then she turned to the blonde elf, and continued, "And how in the name of the Vala could you be in the practice yard if I just directed you to Lady Galadriel's quarters?"

And just speaking of Lady Galadriel reminded her that these were, as far as she knew, foreign dignitaries. They could be kings or lords (not that she had encountered any visiting royalty that smelled as badly as they did), and just thinking of that made all the blood rush out of her face.

It was by the grace of the Lady that she was still in Lothlorien – and here Naomi was, insulting her visitors. Liars they may have been, but calling a king a liar could get her head removed from her shoulders. Or worse, she removed from her place.

She had just opened her mouth to apologize, however grudgingly, when the dark-haired, stringy one that looked like he hadn't seen a bar of soap a day in his life interrupted with: "Lady Galadriel's quarters?"

They exchanged another of those looks that said they were hiding something, and all thoughts of apology left. "Yes," she replied, folding her hands across her stomach in an unconscious imitation of Manaeth. "I saw you not –" here she paused to calculate "—thirty minutes ago, asking after her ladyship."

Both men, communicating silently, dashed out of her room. Confused, and (she admitted to herself) slightly curious, Naomi followed them. After three amusing minutes of watching them circle through the trees, muttering, "They change constantly," she took pity on them and guided them to Lady Galadriel's quarters.

Hardly stopping for propriety, they burst through the doors to the sitting room, where Lady Galadriel sat, a silver goblet poised against her lips, about to take a drink. "No!" shouted the man and elf, and they leapt to stop her.

"My lords, is something wrong?" she asked mildly.

"There seems to be some identity confusion," put in the man. Galadriel's eyes flickered up to see Naomi hovering in the doorway.

"Does my maid need to be here for this?" she asked.

"Yes," replied the elf. "We are not quite sure of the beginning, but we were in the practicing fields, and Aragorn dashed off after a figure. I followed, and was able to overcome him. He had my face, and though we struggled he disappeared like smoke. He left behind something scrawled in ancient script . . ."

The man (supposedly 'Aragorn') took up the mantra. "It read 'Dread beauty, shrink from pleasure'." Deciding to leave out the part about the unnamed maidservant's screams, he continued, "We met your maid in the hallway. She mentioned having just guided someone who looked like Legolas to your quarters. We have no idea what he may have done here."

When they finished Galadriel sat in silence, swirling her wine in her goblet. Then she held it out to the door. "Naomi . . ." she trailed off, and knowing what to do, Naomi rushed forward and took the goblet from her. She knew than Galadriel wished her to clean it for any trace of poison. She turned to do so and then paused.

_Thrust it down her throat_, cackled the voice gleefully.

Instead, she pulled from some depth of her mind some arcane knowledge, and without knowing fully what she was doing, she drew back her arms and tossed some of the liquid onto the bare wall.

There was a hissing sound like water touching a hot iron, and the same old elvish script was branded onto the wall, dyed red from the wine. The rest of the burgundy liquid dripped like tears from the message.

Unconsciously, Naomi translated: "Dread beauty, shrink from pleasure."

The two elves and man stared in awe and suspicion at the maidservant. The silver goblet slipped through her fingers to clatter against the floor, but the sound was dulled by the pounding of blood in Naomi's ears.

_Stupid girl_, hissed the voice.

Then she was running, out the door, through the halls, past a few stunned courtiers who looked offended, and out into the unpopulated forest. Run, run, run pounded the blood in her heart, and she jumped over a fallen branch that her eyes hadn't noticed. She was by the brook and under the water before she could react.

Go away, she told the voice, and opened her mouth to scream at it. Water poured in her mouth, and pressed down on her tongue, not allowing her to say the words. Then strong hands were pulling her from the water, and she was coughing as harsh air took the place of water in her lungs.

She was detached, floating, and noticed that the beautiful elf, the one who had pulled her from the water, had the most marvelous eyes she had ever seen, midnight blue on the outside of the iris softening to silver towards the pupil.

The slim fingers shook her once, twice, and her wet hair flopped in her eyes, and she coughed up more water from the river. Naomi's hands convulsed in her lap, and she noticed that they were red and scratched from pulling at the stones in the riverbed.

"Are you alright?" asked the elf. Legolas. Hadn't Galadriel said that his name was Legolas?

The name struck some memory, and she remembered that the prince of Mirkwood was named Legolas.

_Very smart, Naomi_, said a different little voice in her head, this one much nicer._ You accused the prince of Mirkwood of being a liar_. But at that moment, she was so glad that she was alive, she didn't care that when she returned to Lothlorien, she probably wouldn't have her place as maidservant, and would have to pay for the brand on Lady Galadriel's wall.

He had asked her a question, but she couldn't remember. She tried to ask him to repeat it but her throat was raspy, and she found herself unable to say the words.

"Are you alright?" repeated the prince.

She nodded.

"Why did you run?" he asked.

Naomi whispered softly, "My feet began to move." Her words were uneven, but the prince seemed to understand. It was then that she realized she was sitting in his lap, spreading water over his tunic, which had, with her luck, probably cost more than her year's wages.

Her face turned that accursed red, even with the cool river water trickling down her spine and raising gooseflesh across her neck.

Legolas noticed that she wasn't beautiful, even for a human, and with her hair hanging in strings and her face the color of the setting sun, she looked even less attractive. But her eyes were large and naïve, ringed by lashes that each had an individual droplet of moisture.

Despite the seeming innocence, she knew something – that he could tell.

For a moment, as she dropped more and more of the clear water onto his clothing, and her face began to return to its normal shade, he wondered what exactly Naomi the maidservant was hiding.

Then she flinched and whatever connection they'd had was severed. She quickly scrambled out of his lap, hardly looking graceful, and stood. He followed with much more grace than she had exhibited.

"The Lady wants to see you," he said, and she visibly straightened her spine and squared her shoulders.

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	4. Chapter Four

Hello to all of you wonderful people. Much thanks for all the supportive reviews; you have no idea how encouraging they are.

Just a warning: this chapter does NOT have a lot of action. However, I thought it was quite important, and that I would be cheating if I left it out. So, without further ado, I give you chapter four.

_She couldn't breath. Something, she didn't know what, had been shoved into her mouth, she couldn't breath around it. Trying desperately to control her rising panic, she probed her tongue around the object, trying to see if she could move it. Finding her attempts futile, she attempted to lift her hands and pull the object out, only to find that her hands were bound behind her back by a coarse string, which, she could feel, had already rubbed the skin of her wrists raw. No longer trying to control her panic, she stumbled forward on her knees, for her ankles were bound behind her as well. She had barely gotten a few feet when a devastating pain seized her in her stomach, as if the very muscle fiber was being pulled apart. There was a blinding flash of white, and the pain doubled. The same voice that had been following her since the arrival of the Fellowship reappeared in her mind, a thousands time louder than she had ever heard it, reverberating in every corner of her skull. Follow them; the voice hissed, sounding unusually serpentine and cruel._

"_Who?" asked Naomi, though she feared she already knew. _

_Another pain seized her, this time in her leg, forcing it to jerk about. However, her legs were tied behind her, and the spasms forced her entire body to quaver. "Fool girl," the voice jeered. A sudden image of Legolas flashed across Naomi's mind. "Exactly," the voice chuckled. "Follow the Fellowship."_

When Naomi was finally released from the dream, and from sleep, she was bathed in a cold, clammy sweat that had also soaked the sheets. She panted furiously, muttering to herself in the darkness, "It was only a dream, only a dream, only a dream." Naomi was unable to restrain a bitter laugh. When she had gone to see Galadriel, the Lady had told her that surely the events of the day had been too much for her handmaiden; she should take this potion, which would grant her a dreamless sleep. Normally, Naomi would have argued, saying that she was fine, but the Lady's tone had brooked no argument.

Naomi had no idea what time it was, but she was sure she had slept all night, if not longer. Having finally regained her breath, she rubbed her eyes in an effort to stay conscious. Her hands felt oddly rough against the lids of her eyes. Naomi thrust her hands into the pool of light cast by a nearby candle. The soft skin of her wrists was red and irritated, as if it had been rubbed against a coarse string…

Naomi shuddered, then immediately wondered why. Of course, part of it was the icy sweat, but a much larger part of it was fear. She had no idea what or who the voice was, but she hardly had to be a Wizard to realize that it meant the Fellowship harm. Yesterday had hardly improved matters. The voice had woken her, shrieking inside her head with a kind of hysterical urgency. The rest of her day had been spent doing as the voice commanded, gathering food, drink and small tools: all things that would be needed for a long journey. Whenever Naomi had tried to question the voice, or to suggest a superior alternative to her instructions, a sudden severe pain would grip her; exactly like the pain she had experienced her dream.

Naomi shuddered again, and then dragged herself out of bed. Her body screaming out in protest, she bent over stiffly and pulled out a cloth sack from under the bed. It contained all the materials she had been ordered to collect yesterday. She stared at it for a few moments, trying to collect her thoughts. Apparently, she stared for a few moments too many, because the voice made a reappearance, shouting impatiently. _Hurry up, lazy chattel! I've not gone to all this trouble just to see you fail now._

Resigned to her fate, Naomi walked into the hall her room entered into, clutching her bundle firmly to her chest…then promptly stopped in her tracks. She had no idea where to go. The voice had told her to follow the Fellowship, but where were they? And how did she get there? The voice came up again, but this time it didn't speak harshly. Instead, the voice became oily and smooth. Speaking softly, the voice guided her in all directions, until she couldn't have said which way was up.

Naomi did not regain her bearings or, it seemed, her free will, until mid-afternoon, when she found herself deep in the forests of Lorien, hiding in the bushes that fringed a small clearing. Evidently, she had been crouched in this manner for quite some time, if the soreness in her thighs was any indication. She was about to stretch, when she heard the sudden pounding of what could only be horse-hooves. She heard the voice for only a split second—_Dim-witted woman! _— before Naomi immediately ducked back into the shrubs. The voice was quiet, but for the first time, she could still _sense_ the voice in the back of her mind, as if it were an actual presence.

She had been right—there were horses. Seven to be exact, though one of them was not carrying any people, but was instead laden with two large chests. The entire Fellowship was there, along with Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. The entire party dismounted and the Fellowship formed a line of sorts, as Celeborn assisted Galadriel in relieving the seventh horse of his load.

Galadriel stood before the Fellowship and said something that Naomi could not hear, but seemed to be of great solemnity, for upon hearing it even the hobbits looked downcast. However, it seemed that Galadriel did not want them to be sad, for she laughed gaily and opened the chest Celeborn had placed in front of her. The first item she withdrew was a kind of covering for Aragorn's sword. Naomi knew nothing of weaponry, but even to her the sheath seemed a fine thing, wrought with silver, leafed with gold and inlaid with jewels. The Man accepted his gift with a bow of the head, and Galadriel responded in kind.

Next was Boromir. He received a belt of gold, nearly a hand wide. He repulsed Naomi, for reasons she could not name. Finally, she attributed it to his obvious dislike for his gift; he thanked Galadriel politely enough, but as she knelt to take the next gift from the chest, Naomi saw a distinct look of disgust pass over his face. That belt was easily thrice what Naomi made in a year; what right did any noble have to scorn it? Yet there was another reason for her dislike; he kept on eying Aragorn and staring at the scabbard, clearly jealous. Yes, thought Naomi, this is a man who can never be satisfied.

The next gifts were identical and given to two hobbits that Naomi likewise had trouble telling apart. Merry and Pippin, she thought their names were, and their gifts were belts of worked silver. Naomi liked them instantaneously; although their gifts were nowhere near as fine as the previous presents, the hobbits were obviously extremely grateful of that which they had received.

Much to Naomi's disappointment, Legolas's reaction to his gift gave nothing away about his character. He received a bow; nothing special by Naomi's standards, but what did she know? At any rate, he thanked the Lady politely enough, without seeming unctuous.

The next gift was a small box containing some mysterious object. Whatever it was, it made the portly hobbit who received it cry out in delight.

Gimli, a Dwarf, did not seem to have any gift at all. Instead, Galadriel spoke with him for a few moments before reaching up to the engraved clip that caught up her plentiful tresses. She unpinned it from her hair, and with a light laugh, gave the Dwarf the few hairs that were caught on it. Even from where Naomi was sitting, she could see the Dwarf's blush; but he seemed far from unpleased.

Last was yet another hobbit, but this one seemed different. Naomi leaned as close as she dared, not risking her cover. While all the other hobbits seemed cheerful and perpetually jovial, this one was somber, his eyes slightly dulled. He had the look of one who has been sick for many, many moons and has only just recently been able to walk. However, all of Naomi's observations flew from her mind when she saw his gift. It was a crystal vial, unremarkable in itself, but unless Naomi was very much mistaken…Galadriel had just given up starlight.

She had, however, far less time to ruminate on this than she would have liked. All too soon, all in the Fellowship had been gifted with Elven cloaks that seemed to morph with their surroundings and brooches to bind them with. They began to remount their horses, and Naomi had to stifle a moan as the voice spoke again. _Follow them._

Naomi did just that, waiting until the last horse had thundered past her before daring to emerge from the bush. She ran out and stared in the direction the last horse had gone. She could just make out a long, scraggly tail rounding the corner. Running as fast as she could, she managed to keep the last horse in sight until they finally stopped at the banks of a river Naomi had never seen before. Indeed, she hadn't even known there was a river in Lorien. Thinking fast, she rushed to the banks of the river.

Nearly a half hour later, she was still hiding in the reeds on the bank of the river. Several times, she could have sworn that Legolas looked directly at her; but each time, he had turned away too swiftly for her to be sure. He, Aragorn, and the other man who she thought was named Boromir, were far too busy loading up the boats and keeping track of the hobbits to do anything else, never mind scouring the bushes for spies.

Earlier, she had been concerned about how she would be able to sneak onto a boat. At this point, she was more worried about that fact that when she did find a way, her legs would be so stiff, she wouldn't be able to move.

Finally, she saw it. One of the hobbits had been careless enough to leave his new cloak in a boat, unguarded. Legolas and the two Men had their backs turned. Hardly daring to hope, Naomi dashed out to the boat. Using dexterity she never knew she had, she curled up under the cloak just a split second before Aragorn turned around. She heard him sigh, and then speak. "When will those fool hobbits learn…?" His voice trailed off disgustedly. "Do they not understand that Elven gifts are hardly to be scorned, and definitely not to be disposed of with such disdain?" Barely grunting with the effort, he picked up the cloak, and Naomi, and deposited them both rather unceremoniously in another boat.

Naomi had counted on the cloak being a good disguise, but not quite that good. Thoroughly exhilarated, she relaxed under the cloak. It hardly seemed likely that anyone would notice, given what Aragorn had just done. Picked her up as if she was nonexistent! Naomi had worked hard to achieve that level of invisibility.

Suddenly, she felt the boat lurch forward. Scrabbling to make sure the cloak still covered her; she strained to make out just who had entered the boat. Naomi couldn't make out anything as precise as the shape of facial features, but she did catch a glimpse of terrifyingly blue eyes that seemed to quiver in their sockets. It was the sickly hobbit she had noticed earlier. Shuddering, even under the safety of her cloak, she started to roll in the opposite direction, as a much heavier person entered the boat. The boat pitched wildly as the heavier one moved to talk to the scary one.

Unable to restrain herself, she began to silently giggle. The whole affair was simply so ludicrous. Here she was, a servant for Galadriel, and now she was hearing voices and playing at spy, sneaking onto boats! Just a week ago, she would have laughed at the very idea, and now she was living it.

She lurched again as the boat began to move. The boat rolled nauseatingly while pushing off from the bank before settling into a pleasant rocking-and-rolling rhythm. Slowly, she let the events of the past week wash over her. After that, it took little persuasion before Naomi was lulled to sleep.

Review, or a three-legged puppy will die.


	5. Chapter Five

WELL.

Here it is.

Everyone gasp in fear and shock.

OMG! She updated!

Promptly die from shock.

Chapter Five: Flight Through The Forest

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If the members of the Fellowship noticed the sudden increase in weight of the last of the rowboats, they didn't mention it. Nor did they notice the sudden jerk of a carelessly thrown cloak as the boat rocked to a stop on the sandy bank of the river.

Inside the cloak, Naomi froze, heart pounding madly, waiting for the cloak above her to be snatched away with a triumphant 'Ah-hah!'

But the cloak was not pulled off, nor was anything slightly resembling 'Ah-hah' uttered. The frightened young woman controlled her breathing quickly, trying to keep the Elven cloak above her from rising suspiciously.

The sudden desertion of the water lapping against the side of the boat and the heavy breathing of the hobbit sitting before her in the boat had woken her with a start, and she still didn't know why.

Her traitorous eyelids sunk a little, and she noticed that the sunlight coming through the edge of the cloak was muted. The Fellowship must have stopped to rest the night.

And for the first time, Naomi questioned her motives. She'd been moving so fast, so breathlessly the night before that she hadn't stopped to ask why she was acting so crazily. What in the name of the Vala was she doing, following a group of dangerous men (and not-so-dangerous hobbits) on their secret quest?

_No questions_, hissed the voice.

By nature, Naomi was neither adventurous nor strong-willed. She preferred to spend her days quietly than out in the hustle-and-bustle of the rest of the small forested city where she made her home. It kept her both out of trouble and out of tumbles with the stable boys.

But weariness, hunger, and anger will make even the weakest brave. Yes, she thought. I have some questions. She didn't stop to ponder why she thought of the voice as an entity separate from herself. All she knew was that something was terribly wrong.

Her suspicions were confirmed when a deep pain exploded over her left eye, thrusting starbursts on the edges of her vision, and blurring the inside of the cloak with tears. Retreating to her quiet roots, Naomi decided to forget about her questions and motives for the time being.

_See where they've gone off to_, ordered the voice. As if warning her to obey, the pain over her eye throbbed. She was rousing herself to comply when the cloak was snatched away from her.

" . . . Boromir and Frodo gone?"

Naomi caught a glimpse of one of the hobbits as he disappeared out of her field of vision, clutching the Elven cloak. He hadn't seen her.

Fear once again flooded her veins. What would they do if they found her? _Find them, worry about it later_, the voice hissed.

She counted to fifty slowly, then gently lifted her head to peek out over the edge of the boat. The first thing she saw was the immense tops of immense trees, before she saw the tiny camp settled at the base of the forest, nestled between land and shore.

It was deserted. Naomi silently prayed to the Vala that it would stay that way, and stood. Her balance had never been as good as an elf's, and the small boat lurched ominously as she dismounted. It had slipped back a bit into the water, and she doused the hem of her grey gown with a significant few inches of water.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, she lunged for shore, managing to scramble to dry land without much more water damage. She let herself sink onto the sand, her limbs cramped, for a few minutes. Then she staggered up, and pulled the boat onto land.

The wind swept immediately through her thin dress, chilling her skin and raising gooseflesh. Shivering, she stumbled to the remains of the fire. She had started out as a housemaid, and with some more twigs and blowing, she had a hearty fire crackling in front of her.

She knew from significant experience that her dress wasn't going to dry if she left it on. The heat from the fire would keep her from chill until the dress dried. Secure in this knowledge, Naomi pulled the grey dress off quickly, settling it near the fire enough that it would dry quickly, but not so near that it could catch fire.

As she rubbed her chilled fingers, Naomi didn't really care if the Fellowship came back and found her. Continuing on that vein, she dug some bread out of the hobbits' storage and crunched happily. Her shift wasn't as wet as her dress, and it was already dry when she finished the bread.

The voice was thankfully silent, and Naomi settled down into the sand, now certain that the Fellowship was off somewhere that wouldn't release them for a while. She watched the flames, her vision crossing sometimes, and played one of the games that had been a favorite when she was a child.

They'd called it Figures, and they would sit by the fire, finding pictures in the flicking flames. It was a way to tell one's own fortune. A dog meant a home, a sword meant war, and so on. It was ridiculous, but they all imagined themselves great prophets.

**Dread **

**Beauty**

**Shrink**

**From**

**Pleasure**

Naomi gasped.

She was certain that she wasn't imagining them; for all that she knew that fires didn't write words, wine didn't brand things on walls, did it?

**Beware**

**The**

**Eyes**

**Of**

**Storm's**

**True**

**Grey**

The first stanza was familiar, but she couldn't remember how. Then a picture of blood red wine rose to mind, splashed with arcane knowledge across the wall in Lady Galadriel's chambers.

Dread beauty, shrink from pleasure. Beware the eyes of storm's true grey.

It was then she realized that the words hadn't been written in Common. Hadn't the Elven prince said that the lines were written in and ancient Elvish script?

Since when can I read ancient Elvish? Naomi asked herself. I can barely read Common.

_Beware the eyes of storm's true grey_, mused the voice. It repeated the entire poem. _Dread beauty, shrink from pleasure. Beware the eyes of storm's true grey_. Then it swore. _Of course_, it chuckled._ You are a wily creature, Janthea._

"Janthea?" asked Naomi aloud, and the voice didn't answer.

She didn't have time to muse over the new development when there was slight rustling behind her. The first thing that sprang to mind was her state of undress. The second was how to protect herself. Her roving eyes quickly sprang to the crackling fire in front of her. She reached out, secured one end of a glowing branch, and then swung around.

She put as much force into her swing as she could, and sailed over the head of her assailant; a hobbit. The force whirled Naomi around in a pirouette, and when she stopped, her head was lolling on her shoulders. "Who are you?" she managed.

"Who are you?" demanded the hobbit angrily. "What are you doing here?" Recognition dawned in his gaze.

"You were Lady Galadriel's maid."

She opened her mouth to deny, or maybe to explain, but she was suddenly pulled off her feet. Frozen in shock, Naomi could only gape at the arm securing her waist; thick and hairy, the hand was as dark as dirt.

Her mind slowly processed that this was not the hand of a member of the fellowship.

"I've got one," grunted the creature that held her, his words rumbling through her body. "You get the other."

It was then that Naomi's brain began to function.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Shut up," grunted the creature.

Naomi realized that she still held the fiery branch. Still screaming, she tensed her body and swung the branch up and behind her, into the general direction of the creature's eyes.

It roared, its arm loosened slightly, and Naomi kicked one of its knees. The arm slipped again, and she struggled out of its hold, shimmying like she would out of a tree. The ankle-length hem of her slip caught on its boots, ripping, and she tore it, barely caring.

Her slip now brushing her knees, she stumbled into the forest, running and screaming. "HELP! HELP!" She knew that the members of the fellowship were out there – they wouldn't leave their supplies behind – and all she had to do was find them.

The creature started after her, and Naomi turned to try to see it. Her foot caught on a branch, and she fell, her wrist twisted under her. All the air whooshed out of her lungs, silencing her.

She scrambled to her feet, and pushed herself to run faster, away from the creature. She forgot to scream, to breathe, to do anything except run.

_Run faster, you stupid girl_, hissed the voice, and an invisible force put wings on her feet, a diabolical presence.

She jumped over a fallen tree branch before she even saw it, twigs and bushes scratching her cheeks, bare arms, and legs.

Her hairpins tumbled out, and she didn't care that she was loosing the most possessions she had. Her hair fell down over her shoulders, tangled with curls, and she didn't notice.

Escape, escape, escape.

Yet another branch was in her way, and she leapt over it, landing with a hearty crack that had her wincing for her aching ankles. Somewhat limping, she found herself able to scream again.

"HELP ME! HELP! HELP!"

There was a breath of hot air on the back of her neck, and it propelled her faster. Ahead, she could hear something over the pounding of blood in her ears. Voices, and metal clanging. A clearing. Her screaming grew ragged as she stumbled into chaos.

More of them, she noticed dumbly. Tens, scores of them, and only one man. Boromir, maybe. Hadn't that been what the lady had called him?

Fear, icy, flooded her heart. There were arrows sticking in his chest, and as she paused, he fell, still valiantly fighting, and then yet another arrow was loosened. His eyes, blank with almost death, passed over her. She blinked back sudden tears.

She was too busy watching the death of Boromir to see Legolas and Aragorn race into the clearing, to see the creatures begin to fall. She did, however, notice when the creature yanked her off her feet. Tearing her eyes from the horrible sight of the fallen man, she began to scream again.

Something whizzed by her face, and she fell, for perhaps the fifth time in six minutes, with a heavy weight above her. She couldn't scream because there was no air to be had. All she could do was wheeze pathetically, her arms trapped.

"Help," she wheezed, but it was more of a whoosh of valuable air.

By the time the creature was lifted off of her, she was semi-conscious, her legs and arms bleeding lightly, her ankle and right wrist swelling noticeably.

"What are you doing here?" asked the Elven prince, but Naomi was slipping into unconsciousness, and didn't answer, as his face swam above her.

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REVIEW, if only for poor little ole me, who has no friends. I NEED YOU, or else I'll throw myself off a cliff. You don't want that on your conscience. 


	6. Chapter Six

Finally, an update! Perhaps a bit short, but at least it's something…

'xoxo's mark the change of scene, or the break from the chapter to the author's note. I would have used asterisks, but they're not showing up.

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When Naomi finally awoke, the world had been sheathed in gray gauze that blurred everything she saw. She couldn't distinguish anything beyond the barest shapes, and even those seemed contorted into grotesque beasts, bodies that could not belong to either man or beast. Still worse, was the one flickering emblem in the middle of it all; it refused to stand still, constantly darting about. Naomi was fascinated by it, unable to tear her eyes away.

Dimly, as if crossing a great chasm, her mind supplied the word: fire.

Feeling extremely stupid, yet oddly reassured, Naomi attempted to get a grip on her surroundings. Unfortunately, her senses only extended into her immediate environment before disappearing into the haze. The knowledge that could reach her mind was extremely limited. She was lying on something soft; her head was cushioned, and a blanket of some sort had been pulled over her. She twitched her wrist; there was no trace of pain.

She prepared to fall asleep again. After all, she had been awake for more than a few minutes, and no hideous, alien creatures had attacked her yet; safe enough by her rapidly plummeting standards.

However, the voice would have none of that. _Lazy, worthless _di'thang! it hissed. Familiar tremors of pain began to seep from her shoulder and slither down her right arm like so many serpents. Moaning softly, Naomi tried to ignore the voice, to no avail. The pain intensified along with the speaker's volume. _I'll not see half my life's work wasted. You _will _find the fellowship again. _Against her will, Naomi felt herself get up and start to move.

Naomi took another trembling step, gasping as her foot made contact with cold, rocky earth. She forged forward blindly, the voice guiding her every step. She had only taken a few steps when the voice told her stop with such force that her knees buckled and she landed rather painfully on the ground.

The impact made her open her eyes, and she was gratified to see that the gauze had disappeared. Instead, it was replaced by the welcome sight of the three remaining members of the fellowship; Legolas, Aragorn, and the Dwarf, whose name she could not recall. Naomi smiled grimly to herself. All the prejudices of Middle Earth could probably fit into this one trio.

But an ominous crack in one of her fingers, accompanied by a harsh _Go!_ reminded her that she hardly had time to ruminate over the bigotries of Middle Earth. Still moving slowly, Naomi approached the group.

They did not realize that she was advancing, seated around the fire the way they were. Aragorn was seated next to Legolas, talking with him in a voice too soft for Naomi to hear. Their backs were towards Naomi. The Dwarf—Gimli, she remembered now—was sitting across from them, eyeing them warily.

Naomi continued to approach the trio, but she had only gotten a few feet closer when Legolas had unsheathed one of the daggers he wore crossed over his back and had the blade at her throat, where it pressed as far as possible without actually breaking the skin. In an abrasive voice that held no trace of leniency or mercy, he asked, "Who are you?"

It was worth remarking, Naomi later reflected, that he had done all this without turning around.

As it was, she was terrified out of her wits. When she finally summoned up the courage to speak, her voice was a quavering falsetto. "Naomi, my Lord. Lady Galadriel's maid."

At once the sword was lowered and the elfin prince turned to face her. "Of course." The voice held no trace of emotion. He motioned to a spot on the ground between Aragorn and Gimli. "Sit there." Without waiting to see if she would obey, he reached for a bowl that was sitting by the fire and thrust it in the direction that he assumed she would be sitting.

Nursing her dignity, Naomi walked over to the indicated place. She accepted the bowl, sniffing at the contents. Broth, slightly flavored with something she could not name. She took a small sip and fought not to cringe. The taste reminded her of the few times she had been sent to throw left over food to the pigs. If worst came to worst, she would offer her cooking skills in exchange for traveling with them.

The other three seemed content to sit in silence, but Naomi soon found herself itching with the weight of the stillness. Desperate to dissipate it, she asked, "So, what are we doing?"

The response to her simple question was almost comical. Aragorn started to cough emphatically, Gimli dropped his ax to the ground, while Legolas merely stared at her with an expression caught somewhere between mortification and amusement.

Nonplussed, Naomi stared back. "Well?"

The word hung in the air, an almost tangible object, before Aragorn finally deigned to talk. "You can't possibly think that you will accompany us!" This proclamation was accompanied by a hearty "Aye!" from Gimli, but Naomi noticed that Legolas was now avoiding her gaze. Sensing at least one point of weakness, she honed in.

"But why not?" she asked, taking care to keep her voice from sliding into petulance. "I've made it this far, and you didn't even notice me. Obviously, my being in the way won't be a problem."

Already Gimli and Aragorn were shaking their heads, but Legolas still remained with his head bent. The Dwarf now took up the argument. "But you understand, girl…" Naomi felt anger rise up within her, hot and pulsing. Girl, indeed. She was easily a foot taller than the Dwarf. Well, at least half a foot. "We will be traveling all day, pursuing dangerous creatures the likes of which you've never faced. Far apart from whether or not you can defend yourself, you'll never be able to keep up the pace. No," he shook his head emphatically, "you'll just be a hindrance."

By now Naomi was well and truly infuriated. She was about to launch into a tirade, when Legolas decided to speak. "Let her go."

Aragorn and Gimli immediately began to protest, but the elfin prince cut them off with a wave of his hand. "She has managed to avoid detection for this long." He turned to face Naomi. "Few humans could do that." Aragorn began to speak again, but Legolas overrode him; "No, Estel. You must admit…" he turned so that his gaze took in both man and Dwarf. "You must admit that telling her she could not come was hardly the best thought out plan. We can hardly abandon her to the wolves. She deserves to come."

Naomi felt her heart begin to warm to the elf just before he said, "At any rate, even if she does prove to be a hindrance, we can just leave her in any town we come across."

She glared at the Elf, but he didn't seem to notice.

xoxoxo

The next morning dawned in a nauseatingly cheerful fashion. Naomi was rudely shaken awake by the tremors of a foot stamping impatiently. As she blearily raised her head, she heard an imperious voice say, "We don't have time to dawdle." Turning her face up, she saw Legolas, looking particularly superior as he gazed down at her.

Naomi was still too far asleep to protest, despite the fact that she had never gotten up this early in her life, a fact of which her body reminded her at every opportunity. Still keeping her eyes half closed against the intrusion of the sun, she rolled up her makeshift bed, blanket, pillow and all and slung it over her shoulder.

Their journey soon started, and Naomi was relieved to see that she wasn't holding them back. Indeed, the Dwarf was an even slower runner than she was, and while she couldn't keep up the breakneck speed that both Legolas and Aragorn maintained with ease, she was pleased by the fact that they never had to wait for her.

The quartet ran for what seemed like ages, over dull, flat terrain that never changed. In fact, the only indication that they had moved at all was the movement of the sun overhead.

They stopped at what must have been around noon, if the position of the sun was any indication to Naomi's untrained eyes. She kneeled over gratefully, letting herself notice for the first time the dull ache between her ribs and her distinct lightheadedness. To her great irritation, Legolas seemed to need no rest at all; while the other three were panting in various stages of dehydration, the Elf managed to look as if he had only just finished napping.

Naomi had wished that they would be eating something that bordered on real food, but her hopes were crushed when Aragorn took a leaf-packet from his pack and proceeded to break up the bread it contained into four even pieces, and then dispensed them to the rest of the group.

They ate in silence, though Naomi noted that Legolas barely nibbled at his piece, and put it back in Aragorn's pack as soon as he was sure that man wasn't looking. But of course; to an Elf, daily nourishment would be little more than a luxury, and Legolas doubtlessly realized the wisdom in saving all available food.

Once again, the silence began to weigh on Naomi. In Lothlorien, mealtimes had been noisy, rambunctious affairs in the hot, cramped servants' quarters. Naomi had rarely participated in the conversation herself, but for her food would always be associated with the hustle and bustle of roughly eighty humans all trying to eat at the same time. She broke the quiet. "Where are we going?"

Naomi thought her question would go unanswered, but finally Legolas spoke. "We are looking for the Hobbits Merry and Pippin; I believe you saw them being captured by Orcs." Naomi nodded. "Once we find them, I do not know. Our duty was to follow Frodo. Now that he has gone…" the Elf shrugged.

His tone was solemn, and Naomi sensed that this was a sensitive area, but the voice, returning once again, obviously didn't care for such niceties. _Find out about Frodo, _the voice whispered. When she momentarily hesitated, there came another crack in one of her fingers. _Now!_

Much against her will, Naomi was about to form a question when Legolas suddenly said, "What was that?" His head was craned towards Naomi.

Immediately, Aragorn looked around. "What is it? The Orcs?"

Slowly, Legolas shook his head. "No, it was more of a snapping sound…like a bone." Nodding at Naomi, he added, "It came from her direction."

Abruptly, Naomi felt the probing stares of Elf and Man being turned in her direction. She meant to stand up, then inspect the area where she was sitting, but she was stopped short when the bolts of pain began to shoot through the hand she used to push herself up.

Giving a small cry, she fell back to the ground, scrutinized her hand, and noticed that two of her fingers were sticking out in distinctly unnatural angles. With a jolt, she remembered the times her fingers had cracked; once the night before, and the second time just a few moments ago. They must have broken, but how had she not realized it?

Her time for reflection was lost as Legolas reached across to her with catlike speed and grabbed her hand. "Your fingers are broken."

"So I'd gathered," Naomi snapped. Perhaps her anger was unwarranted, but she _had_ just discovered that far beyond just causing her pain, the voice could apparently render her limbs useless on a whim; she was in no mood to be charitable.

Aragorn rolled his eyes. "Let me see." Naomi transferred her hand from Legolas to Aragorn, and the man inspected them. "These aren't snap breaks."

He was speaking to Legolas, correctly assuming that Naomi had no idea what he was talking about. Nonetheless, Naomi was surprised when Legolas was the one to offer her an explanation. "Snap breaks are when the bone is turned in the wrong direction, or if someone steps on the bone. But your fingers…" he took her hand from Aragorn, "these are stress breaks."

Now Aragorn took up the explanation. "This is when too much force is exerted on the bone, and it simply snaps from the pressure."

Legolas stared her in the eye, and Naomi couldn't keep herself from shifting uncomfortably. Did his eyes have to be quite so penetrating? It was as if her mind were being stripped away, layer by layer.

At long last, the Elf spoke. "With all due respect, Naomi, the force that takes is quite a bit more than you could ever wield. Who broke your fingers?"

Naomi looked down at the ground. If only she could tell him the truth…But the voice cut that thought off almost instantaneously. _No! But, obviously, you're incapable of holding up to my punishment._ The voice cackled insanely. _Not only a human, but also a weak one at that? My, my, but if Janthea could only see this!_

Naomi shook her head in an attempt to clear her thinking, but Legolas took it as an answer to his question. "Naomi, whoever it was, they can't hurt you here. You'll never see them again. You needn't be afraid."

The irony was such that it almost made Naomi weep. In a desperate effort to discover her tormentor, Legolas had managed to strike upon the one thing that irked her most; the fact that no matter where she was, the voice would be too. After all, how do you fight something inside your own head?

She heard Legolas sigh. "Fine. If you won't tell us, there's nothing we can do."

Naomi kept her head bent down, afraid that she would weep, or still worse, break down and confess everything if she had to meet his stare. They hadn't even wanted to take her along; if she broke down and started to ramble about a voice in her head, it was hardly likely to enhance their opinion of her. No, it would be far better to keep any such digressions to herself, where they could do the least harm. And besides, she had already seen the pain the voice could inflict when it wanted her to do something. Who knew what would happen to her if she tried to reveal its presence?

"But at least let me set your fingers." Legolas again. Naomi couldn't yet bring herself to talk, but she gave her hand to him. Nothing would be gained by losing the use of two of her fingers for life.

His fingers were surprisingly gentle; she had taken him for the type of man who would unintentionally take out his anger on others, but she was clearly wrong. He ran his fingers up and down hers several times, pressing and releasing at seemingly random points. When at last he set the joint, it was nowhere near as painful as Naomi had expected; indeed, the only way she even knew that he had done so was the telltale scrape of bone sliding over bone.

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Di'thang is Elvish for slave. I think. I don't know if it's Sindarin or Quenya. So shoot me.

All Elvish translations have been taken from If you notice any glaring errors (or if you speak Elvish—this would be excellent!) please, let me know.

Every time you read and don't review, and fanfic author falls over dead. We don't want that, now do we?


	7. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: I have a Legolas action figure. That doesn't mean I own him.

Author's Note: Yes! Naomi isn't as pathetic as she seems to be! Rejoice!

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Chapter Seven

* * *

As the weeks passed, a wary camaraderie arose amongst Naomi, Gimli, and Aragorn. Despite the elf prince's previous help with her fingers, he made no effort to engage her in anything even vaguely resembling a conversation.

He grunted, in a masculine, inefficient way, at her in the morning as she joined them at the campfire. It infuriated her to no end, but she saw no point in pushing the matter. Naomi simply took the offered corner of the hard elfin bread and chewed in silence.

Once it became clear that Gimli was slowing them down more than Naomi, Aragorn had attempted to draw her into conversation when they were settled for the night. Perhaps he sought friendship with the only human member of the group; or perhaps he was simply being kind to the scrawny, pathetic woman that Naomi saw herself as.

When she had first arrived in Lothlorien, amongst the Rohan soldiers that had rescued her from certain death in the Fanghorn Forest, Naomi had discovered that she held no mystery to the opposite sex. This revelation – which was really more of a resignation than anything close to a burst of clarity – brought with it a sharp ache that had faded as the years passed.

Now, twelve years after her parent's death and her rescue by the Rohan soldiers, Naomi found the ache to be a nuisance. She treated it the same way she treated everything else that sought to harm her – she avoided it with religious fervent.

But now she was thrust head first into that which she had tried so hard to evade.

To push it away, Naomi resorted to memories.

Other than her ability to become almost invisible, Naomi had one skill vital to her existence. She discovered very early in her life that she could shove aside those things she found painful by burying herself in memories.

Early in her life, Naomi had lived with her parents at the outskirts of Fanghorn Forest. At twenty-three summers, she could still recall every moment of her childhood. It was a peculiar type of memory that she soon found very few possessed.

Upon arriving in Lothlorien, Naomi had been accepted into the service of the Lady, who had pitied the diminutive child of eleven just as much as Naomi imagined Aragorn pitied her now. Over the years, her duties had not altered much. She was a minor handmaiden, and perhaps even worse than that, she sewed atrociously. This left her with little to do; it also left her with little respect in the eyes of her would-be companions.

Thus, Naomi spent little of her time performing her duties, and more of it with nothing to do.

There were always visits to the river, walks in the forest, and hours spent assisting Manaeth with the house linens. The infirmary always needed to be restocked, and with her ability to visualize the herbs themselves, Naomi proved an asset.

But when she turned thirteen, Naomi found something in Lothlorien that trumped all other activities.

She found a library.

Of course, she could barely spell her own name, and read perhaps two or three phrases, but for a few months Naomi contended herself by disappearing amongst the towering stacks, barely daring to wisp a fingertip across the yellowed parchment.

She studiously avoided the librarian, who was rumored to be an imposing figure with a penchant for shooing out visitors, for a few weeks, until she was discovered quite by accident.

The Librarian – he had no name other than his title, he told her – _was _imposing, and he did like shooing out visitors. But he also seemed to like Naomi, and thus, she found herself falling quickly and effortlessly in love with books.

Her newfound obsession she kept to herself. Manaeth would simply huff about how she could find something better to do with her time – such as help Manaeth with the linen washing – and that left Naomi without anyone else.

And although she would never stutter her fears aloud, she was also afraid that the Librarian would lose his position if it was found out that he helped handmaidens memorize priceless elfin knowledge.

He never actually taught her how to read. Instead, he read _to_ her, almost inscribing in air the arcane knowledge that left his lips. In her mind, Naomi drew the words in a way that she could understand and remember.

He taught her wit, dryly explaining that it had no use for the race of elves, which preferred wisdom to its impetuous cousin. He taught her how to hone intelligence into a weapon as sharp as a dagger. She learned passages from the greatest elfin works by heart, and could recite thousands of songs and ballads.

Nevertheless, she had no use for these skills.

Now she pulled out obscure passages and foreign ballads, reciting them silently in her mind to keep away the ache of loneliness. And however much she tried to stuff them away as they halted for the night and made camp, her self-control was losing the battle.

Hunger, weariness, and ache were proving to be powerful solvents. She had never had much of a temper – but she had never eaten solely bread for weeks, nor had to walk as far and as so quickly. As she weakened, so did the barrier keeping all of her thoughts to herself.

And perhaps the most powerful of the solvents was Prince Legolas.

His stiff mannerisms and self-serving grunts were becoming harder and harder to ignore. Naomi had years of experience under her belt of serving _his type_, but usually the pompous elves left after a month or so, and she was not continually exposed to them when they stayed.

Fifteen hours of his comments on the land they traversed, occasionally punctured by a short, hot argument with Gimli, followed by his grunts at mealtimes (all of which was broken by five hours of sleep, eventually disrupted by a polite shake from Aragorn) was proving to be far more tiresome than Naomi had expected.

Without realizing it, she had played the part of terrified handmaiden to perfection, never making comments or adding to their conversations, whimpering at night as nightmares grasped at her, and thus Legolas, as well as Aragorn and Gimli, were caught completely off guard when she erupted.

Legolas and Aragorn had momentarily lost the trail of the Uruk-hai, the creatures they had been trailing that had tried to kidnap her. They stood, infuriated with themselves and each other, fuming in silence.

"What have we missed?" whispered Aragorn sharply to himself, clenching his fists and surveying the ground in front of them. The prince, in comparison, seemed fully composed, lightly balanced on the balls of his feet, leisurely scanning the horizon.

"Whwf," huffed the dwarf, sitting on the ground with enough force to knock the breath out of his lungs. Naomi was also sitting, knees bent under her chin, her arms wrapped around her legs, knowing that if she got involved she would be more hindrance than help.

"There must have been something we missed, Legolas," said Aragorn, almost morosely, twisting his head to look at his elfin friend.

"No," replied Legolas, turning away from the horizon. "Estel, I would not have missed something."

Naomi ground her teeth at the imperious tone of his voice, and the words melted off her tongue before she even thought them. "Because the Valar would not allow a member of the elfin race to make a mistake." There was a hiss of disdain at the end of her words.

For a moment, there was simply silence.

"I beg your pardon?" demanded Legolas. Even Aragorn looked a bit dumbfounded, and though Naomi told herself that apologize would be the best – and least dangerous – course of action, she continued.

"I thought that Elves are prided for their ears," replied Naomi, a hint of disappointment spicing her statement. "Ah, well, I was wondering when it would become apparent to you that there is a difference between listening and hearing."

She smiled.

"I heard you," said the subject of her disdain.

"Then why in the name of the Valar would you beg my pardon?"

"I—" Trapped, Legolas found himself floundering for an appropriate response. Naomi looked up at him with innocent eyes, the smile still gracing her lips.

"They went this way," announced Aragorn, desperately attempting to rescue his friend from further mortification. "We should continue for a few more hours before making camp."

They gathered their things and stood, Naomi brushing off her grey dress and ignoring the elfin prince she had so effortlessly put in place. When she raised her eyes, she found the dwarf only a few inches shorter than herself give her a huge wink and a chuckle.

That night, as Naomi unrolled Merry's owner-less bed roll and unpacked Pippin's equally owner-less blanket, she found Gimli hard-put to forget her unforgiving comments to Legolas. He sniggered every once and a while, giving her winks whenever they made eye-contact, and adding a reference of his own during the dinner conversation.

As she fell asleep, Naomi once again fell into the patterned nightmare that haunted her sleeping hours. She never remembered the occurrence when she woke at dawn, but the terror assailed her the moment she drifted to sleep.

_The eyes rising out of the darkness that flittered amongst the bright light; blue and deep, watching, evaluating._

_The harsh whisper of a death sentence._

_The fire, licking the edge of the roof, spewing out of the windows and the door in bursts of blinding light, scattering sparks like stars. _

_The trees, moaning and swaying as their leaves disappeared in pop, pop, pops of heat._

_The sobs, of that one who was simply an observer to the pain and the death. _

_The smell, of sizzling meat left too long over the fire, like scorched dreams and love._

_The screams, blood-curling and cutting as a knife, as fire burned its way through them, peeling away flesh and blood, revealing the ivory pure bone beneath._

_Flesh and blood and bone that she shared._

_The whisper. _

_**Mother.**_

_**Father.**_

Naomi jerked awake, the whispers of her dreams clawing their way out of her throat. She swallowed, forcing them back down, forcing herself to calm. But it was useless; she was absolutely petrified as she remembered the heat of the fire, and the screams and sobs.

She took in a few shuddered breaths and rested her head back on the lumpy roll of blankets. Eyes glazed, she watched the light of the fire until the tentacles of flame tickled the edges of her vision. A small spurt of movement had her shifting her eyes to the lithe form of the elfin prince that was pacing unhappily.

"'Then why in the name of the Valar would you beg my pardon?'" he muttered to himself, his voice unwillingly echoing over the silent campfire. "'Then why in the name of the Valar would you beg my pardon?'. Dammit."

Naomi couldn't help that her lips curled unconsciously into a smile.

It seemed that she had shocked the haughty Legolas more than he had cared to admit. Generally, Naomi wasn't brave enough to take on a member of the 'wise race', but she had been so frustrated with him that she couldn't stopper her words . . .

Nevertheless, the elated feeling of having matched wits with an elf and come out on top made a bright flush in her stomach spread across her abdomen.

Forgetting of her nightmare, Naomi, for the first time in months, fell asleep with a smile on her face, and it stayed there all through the morning.

* * *

Oooooooohhhhhhh . . . . so finally you see that I wasn't going to be as cruel to Naomi as you originally assumed I would be. She DOES have a talent!

Now, could you do your part to further the greater good?

SPREAD THE LOVE, AND REVIEW.


	8. Chapter Eight

The eighth chapter! Please enjoy responsibly!

Chapter Eight

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It didn't take long for that smile to vanish completely.

Naomi was hardly a foolish girl; she knew full well that her physicality left much to be desired. In fact, it was primarily for that reason that she had made such an effort to hone her wit. She would never be able to entice men with her body; nor would she ever be able to muscle them out of her way. All she could hope to do was impress them with her witticisms.

But this plan had its faults; namely, that she herself could be muscled out of the way. And the Elven prince had taken a shockingly short amount of time to figure this out.

The first time, she had thought it nothing more than a mere accident. Legolas had bumped into her while serving himself breakfast, hard enough so that she winced; but he had quickly apologized, and she soon forgot the incident.

What became harder to ignore were the suddenly constant mishaps. Just in the hour or so before they broke camp and returned to their journey, he managed to knock into her no less than seven times. She had bit back several choice comments about the supposed graces of the Elves, reasoning that he was obviously still in a snit over her previous comment. No, it would be far better to let him let his guard down. Then, and only then, would she launch her attack.

Fortunately, her chance came rather sooner than she thought. When they stopped for lunch, the Elf accidentally-on-purpose knocked her hand when he handed the Dwarf his food. Seizing her opportunity, Naomi promptly dropped the bread she had been holding. Staring in exaggerated horror at the now dirt-encrusted bread, she gasped heavily and put her hand to her mouth in mock shock before she launched her tirade. "Oh! My lord! What a wonderful thing you have just done!" The Elf stared at her warily. She continued mercilessly. "Why, you've managed to dispel every myth about the alleged gracefulness of the Elves in a single morning."

The Elf seemed to think that she would leave it at that, and that had indeed been Naomi's initial impulse. But when she saw the look of derision on his face she threw caution to the winds, seized Legolas' hand and began to pump it energetically. "Really! It is a _tremendous_ accomplishment, I simply must congratulate you!" The Elf's face had turned a rather gratifying shade of puce, so Naomi relented and sat down.

No one talked again for the rest of the day.

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As they made camp that night, Naomi would have been a fool not to notice the constant vitriolic looks Legolas cast at her. But she quickly reasoned to herself that mere looks were harmless and shoved any thought of them to the back of her mind. After all another event, far more dire, was consuming all of her attentions; the voice had returned.

It had been a mere whisper during dinner, as if the voice was regaining strength after its long rest. Naomi had paid no heed to it, hoping against hope that it was merely the rustling of the grass.

But the murmurings remained constant, a low buzzing in the bottom of her consciousness that rose in volume and insistency. By the time she went to sleep she was able to make out distinct words, but they were merely the stuff of incomprehensible ravings.

In the middle of the night, the voice's power returned with a vengeance and Naomi was jolted back into awareness by a sudden pain in her finger. With a wince, she tried to bend the joint in question and realized that she must have suffered from another one of the stress breaks.

It was a mark of her stubbornness that her first instinct was to find a way to hide the break from Legolas. But all too soon, the voice intruded upon her plans for further Elf torture.

_What have you accomplished_? the voice hissed. Immediately, Naomi recalled her Elf-embarrassments; if those did not count as accomplishments, what did? But the voice disagreed. A sinuous pain began in her lower stomach and burned its way up her torso, forcing her to convulse and shudder. As the ache intensified, so did the voice. _Foolish girl! What do you think I care for your petty quips? _There was a sound like a snort. _I need to know if they trust you!_

Naomi instantly recalled the looks both Legolas and Aragorn had directed at her when they had been inspecting her broken fingers. They had been suspicious then, and the fact that she had a new break would do nothing to alleviate their misgivings. On the other hand, the Dwarf was quite happy with her; he disliked the Elf greatly and any fool could see that every barb Naomi used against Legolas was a mark in her favor with the Dwarf.

The voice apparently saw each thought as soon as it passed through her mind. He made sounds of disgust over her memories of Legolas and Aragorn, but those of Gimli seemed to please him. The voice _hmm_ed softly. _Well_, he mused softly. _So you aren't as useless as I had thought. _

The pain began to drip out of her body. _Don't forget me, Naomi_, the voice murmured, the volume decreasing with the pain. _I'll always be watching_. Had the circumstances been any different, Naomi would have burst into laughter; the words were so hopelessly clichéd, but she was too terrified to do anything but hope the pain would vanish.

It soon did, and Naomi immediately set about finding a means to disguise the break in her finger. She began to make her way over to where they had laid their packs earlier, before settling down for the night. She walked as quietly as she could, putting each foot down with great care.

After a short time, her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, and she was able to make out the sleeping shapes of both Aragorn and Gimli. Of course, the Elf might be anywhere; he had no need of sleep, and Naomi suspected that he spent the nights scouting the terrain ahead.

Naomi was a mere four steps from the packs when she caught sight of what looked like flame. It took her a few moments to be sure; the light kept on shifting out of her vision, only to flicker back uncertainly. At first she ignored it, and only continued to where she was sure the packs were. But they weren't there; the Elf must have needed them.

She began to make her way in the opposite direction, towards the fire, reasoning that it must be Legolas. The ache in her finger was increasing every second, and by now Naomi was more than ready to take whatever criticisms the Elf might offer, if only he could off her relief from the twinge.

She was right; the Elf was staring into the flames with a super-human degree of concentration. Every few seconds, he would apparently see something that displeased him, for he would frown, mutter under his breath, and then throw still more wood onto the blaze.

Naomi hardly dared to approach him; he looked as if any sudden shock would snap his psyche in two. But as she moved forward, her finger brushed against her hip. The flash of pain acted as a spike in her determination, and she continued to make her way to the Elf.

Certain that she hadn't been noticed, Naomi stopped when she was just inches from the Elf. Reasoning that she would simply have to wait him out, she sat next to him.

After only a few moments, he began to speak. His voice was wispy and dry, as if he had not used it for a very long time and his vocal chords were still regaining their strength. Even so, the sudden sound still made Naomi start. Her lips began to form some incoherent apology to the Elf when she realized that he wasn't speaking to her. She leaned closer to hear what he was saying and almost fell into his lap when she heard the Elf say "Janthea…"

Before Naomi could control herself she heard her voice blurt out "Who is she?" Immediately, she cursed herself for her stupidity as the Elf came out of his stupor with a sudden jerk.

Legolas turned to her. He did not look particularly mad, but Naomi edged a bit away from him, just to be safe. "Who is who?"

"Janthea," Naomi said nervously. When the Elf showed no indication of answering, she continued. "You…you said her name?" Much to her disgust, her voice quavered. Naomi gestured to the fire. "You were staring into the fire, and you said Janthea. I've heard the name before, I know I have!" Her voice gained strength as she became more confident. "Who is she?"

Sighing, Legolas turned back to the fire, and for a moment Naomi feared that he would slip back into his reverie without answering her question. She _had_ to know; the voice had mentioned Janthea, and Naomi was desperate for any clue that would lead to the voice's identity.

But she need not have feared, for Legolas turned to her and began to speak. His voice had somehow returned to normal, but speech clearly took a great effort out of him. "Are you familiar with the wizard Saruman, Naomi?"

Naomi shook her head. He nodded grimly.

"Of course. You hardly would be." He paused to take a great breath. "He was…is…a Wizard, one of the greatest of all time. He was once the head of the Istari, the White Wizard." He paused again and coughed harshly, taking great gulps of air that moved his entire torso. "But he always had an undercurrent of evil, and now he is ruled by that nuance. Janthea was his lover, many Ages ago."

He coughed again and leaned closer to the fire, obviously desperate for warmth. Now that his face was illuminated, Naomi could clearly see that his face was ashen and his eyes bloodshot. Tentatively, she asked, "What happened to her?"

She had expected the Elf not to answer her question, when talking was clearly still a tremendous exertion, but he continued to speak. "Saruman killed her." He apparently noticed Naomi's shock, for he hastened to add, "Oh, it was an accident of course. She was wounded, and he tried to heal her. Unfortunately…" Legolas laughed. It was a strange, cold sound that sent tremors down Naomi's spine. "Well, unfortunately for _her_, Saruman didn't have enough control over his power. When he tried to heal her, he managed to flood her body with power, far more than she could handle. She simply…" Legolas gestured vaguely "exploded."

Naomi nodded slowly. It was a lovely, if rather bare, tale, with the all the necessary elements of sadness and love, but it seemed rather pointless. Legolas was ostensibly thinking along the same lines, for he said, "But that's not why people remember her. No," and he shook his head, "Janthea is remembered for her prophecy. You see," he said, turning to Naomi for the first time, "Janthea was a fire spirit, a sort of demon. When she died, her remains burned into the ground, supposedly forming some sort of foretelling."

Naomi's breath caught in her throat. The noise must have been audible, for Legolas looked at her and laughed again. This time, thankfully, it was a normal laugh. "No need to get so excited. No one knows what the prophecy was. Well," he amended, "no one except Saruman, but he's hardly spreading the information around. But that reminds me," his voice turned suddenly harsh, "how did you hear of her? Of Janthea?"

Naomi opened her mouth to reply, fully intent on some fabrication, when Legolas grabbed her chin and forced her to look him in the eye. When he spoke, his voice was unlike anything she had heard before. Harshly, and far more seriously than he had ever spoken before, he said, "Do not lie to me, Naomi. I will know if you do."

The next moments happened too fast for Naomi to have any reaction to them. With an almighty roar, the voice reared from the back of her mind, shouting incoherently. Seconds later, Legolas sprang away from her with a cry of fear. The voice disappeared as abruptly as it had come.

Legolas stumbled to the ground, but immediately regained his balance. He made no effort to get closer to Naomi, instead choosing to look at her with a mixture of dread and revulsion. After what seemed an eternity, he finally spoke. "What in the name of the Valar _are_ you?"

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Sorry the update took forever. But REVIEWING can only make the updates come quicker.


	9. Chapter Nine

Oh god, I'm evil aren't I? I'm sorry! I didn't mean for it to take this long!

REALLY!

Please!

(cue the whimpering)

Chapter Nine

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"What in the name of the Valar _are_ you?"

Naomi's first reaction was to, of course, huff and reply, "A _human_, last time I checked." However, considering the somber tone of the events unraveling before her eyes, she decided this to be too flippant a comment.

_Tell him the truth and you lose another finger_, warned the voice, and an ache in her already shattered right hand had her reevaluating her options.

She'd opened her mouth, a decidedly more polite – and less truthful – reply on the tip of her tongue, when a pair of golden, long-fingered hands wrapped themselves around her mouth.

"Shh," hissed the owner of these hands – it truly was despicable how _perfect_ the elfin race was – and Naomi did so, hands clenching around the hem of her grey dress, now brown from the speckled dust of the landscape.

While Naomi certainly couldn't hear anything, apparently what Legolas did frightened him, because a second later he was propelling her upward and towards camp, and, not even bothering to keep his voice down anymore, said, "Wake them up! We're being attacked!"

All the terror of her first head-on meeting with violence slammed into Naomi's temples and then down into the pit of her stomach. The hot breath of the creature on the back of her neck as he hunted her through the treacherous turns of the forest; the malevolent speed lent to her by the voice echoing through her mind . . .

_dear Valar help me, oh please, oh please, help me, save me, oh god_

With an impatient huff laced with anger, the elfin prince drew his sword from its position on his side, apparently deeming the threat too close for his precious bow to be of use. He clutched his hilt loosely, just as practiced in this sort of weaponry as he was of archery.

Not daring to draw his eyes away from the surrounding darkness, he slowly positioned himself so he was best protecting Naomi and the camp behind her from whatever it was that was fast approaching. "By the Valar, if you do not move . . ."

He didn't finish, but Naomi grasped the implicit threat nicely.

She turned, her breath still being drawn in short gasps, realizing that the camp was much farther back than it had seemed when the flicker of the firelight was drawing her towards Legolas. Grimacing, she stumbled towards the camp, attempting to gather enough breath to voice a warning that would be loud enough to wake both Aragorn and the snoring dwarf.

Her hair had been loosened when she had undone the plait to sleep, and its ends tickled the corners of her eyes, blinding her as she half-ran, half-shuffled her way to the bedrolls. She caught her bare toes on rocks and roots more than once, not sure where the larger rocks were in the darkness.

She lost the pain of her finger in the bruising of several of her toes, as well as her left ankle.

Her breathing was quickening, and she was certain that she was a few paces from the sleeping remaining members of the group when there was a threatening, heady snarl from behind her.

The breath she'd been gathering to scream was pulled out noiselessly into the cool night air as she whirled around, arms waving to gain back her lost balance, curls blinding her, frantically searching through the orange-highlighted air for her assailant.

At first, all she could see was the faint glint of metal, Legolas' sword as he battled the things, the attackers she had yet to see. She noticed in an illogical, suicidal way that the elfin prince was so utterly graceful when maneuvering his sword that she had no doubt he would be a fabulous dancer.

_Idiot girl!_

It was then the creature whose snarl she had heard before stalked into the yellow-orange light.

It was enormous, as large as she was standing – though considerably less scrawny – with patched russet and grey fur that was orange and black in the firelight. Its eyes were yellowish-red, milky in consistency, and glazed with a fine sheen of liquid. The teeth it bared in another horrible snarl were dripping with silver saliva.

There was a piercing shriek, loud enough to deafen, echoing through the inky blackness, and it took Naomi a moment to realize that no, this was not another horrible creature, but _her_, garbling words in her panic.

The noise was also considerably softer in sound than she had presumed, more of a whisper than a shriek, but it seemed her mind was echoing the cry.

As quickly as it had begun, the whisper-shrieks subsided, letting the raspy _slither-clink_ of the creature's claws take precedence, as it pawed the ground beneath it.

Its entire body rumbled with another unnatural noise, and then it was darting forward, three feet off the ground, its trembling snout and sharp teeth pointed directly towards her midsection.

Regaining her voice, Naomi turned and dived into Aragorn's bedding, the whoosh of air and scent of matted fur and moldy blood not drowning out the hysterical sound of her screams, now truly deafening.

The man awoke instantly, one hand drawing his sword as the other removed the dagger that had been instantaneously pointed at Naomi's neck. Her screams warbled onward, gaining higher and higher pitch, obviously hurting the animal.

It crashed with an anguished howl into the sparse vegetation, ears no doubt ringing, a hands-breadth from Gimli's bedroll. As the dwarf snorted awake, the animal rose shakily to its feet and growled, ignoring the red-haired figure at its feet in favor of the woman making the noise that was tormenting it so.

Aragorn none-too-gently pushed Naomi off his legs and rose in a smooth motion, never breaking eye-contact with the beast. Running out of air, she finally let her screams fall into silence, as she realized what was so strange about the animal.

It was, she had suddenly realized, a _wolf._

And while this was not an uncommon sight in the area they trekked across, wolves – even those in this mountainous desert of Middle Earth – didn't grow to the size of warhorses.

_I didn't extend all this hard work to have you mauled by wolves_, hissed the voice, and then she was on her feet, grasping the end of a splintered branch (intended, eventually, for firewood) as though it was Andúril returned from its broken state in the halls of Rivendell.

Aragorn quickly disengaged the animal – its milky eyes proved to be a sure indicator of its advanced age – but more were melting out of the darkness. Using memorized knowledge, Naomi discerned that they had stumbled upon the creature's hunting ground, of which they were ridiculously territorial.

As long as the lead male pushed them to mark their territory, they would fight. Desert wolves, however, would abandon a fight once they had lost their lead male, subconsciously marking the battle as useless. They would then return to their den and choose a new lead.

_Abandon the fight_.

"The lead male!" said Naomi triumphantly. "Aragorn! Kill the lead male and they'll leave us alone!"

"What?" demanded the man as he circled cautiously, now joined by a be-axed Gimli. "Kill the what?"

"The lead male! Desert wolves will abandon a fight once the lead male – most often discernable for the silver markings along his back – is killed." Her voice was rough from screaming, but she still managed to stammer out her point.

Perhaps believing her – or perhaps simply seeing no reason why _not_ to go after the lead – Aragorn immediately sought out this wolf that Naomi had described. He finally found it, agonizing seconds later, peeling from the group Legolas was hastily dispatching to stalk towards them.

As Naomi had described, its back was crisscrossed with silver markings that were actually scars, often four in a parallel. Aragorn calmly elbowed Naomi back, away from the general gathering of wolves, and he and Gimli met the wolf together.

Tightening her grip on her makeshift club of wood, Naomi turned her gaze away from the fight in front of her to behind; assuring that none of the wolves had circled around with the intent of ambushing the larger group of prey.

"Naomi!"

She whirled around, a second too late, as the wolf made it past Aragorn and Gimli in her direction. Wolves often, she knew, targeted the weakest member of the pack of prey they were attacking.

There was nothing she could do but stand there in open-mouthed horror, hand loosely wrapped around her club of wood, as the open mouth of the wolf gaped at her. She screwed up her eyes and prepared herself for the lunging body of fur.

_Stupid, silly, useless little girl_, hissed the voice, stabbing above her eyelid with a burst of pain, splintering across her forehead, _open your eyes_.

She did so, if only so she could alleviate the pain, and saw that the wolf had stopped in its approach, paw lifted to take another step. She breathed a sigh of relief, and stumbled backwards, hand to her heart, thanking the Valar with all her soul. It was then she looked beyond the lead and saw Aragorn, body twisted as he pulled up his sword, frozen in the motion.

Gimli was stopped as well, his axe swinging in an angle impossible to maintain for a lengthy amount of time. It was as though the air had stopped itself, a tapestry woven of the scene for future reference.

What had happened?

_Stop gawking_, instructed the voice malevolently, _and get yourself out of the way_.

She did so instantaneously, confused, throwing herself to the left and behind the approaching wolf. As she did, the air released itself, and the wolf tumbled into dry air with a squeal, burying its nose in the dirt.

It didn't take much longer for Aragorn and Gimli to finish him, and sensing his death the rest of the pack backed away into the night. Naomi lay in the dust while they did so, trying to process what she had just seen.

Time itself had stopped . . . but why?

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Whew.

Well. Interesting tidbit there.

Hmm . . . well, if you review, maybe I'll update faster than the, what, month it took me to put this up?


	10. Chapter Ten

The stone was cold, almost freezing under his bare feet, and at any other time such an annoyance would have been enough for him to declare the death of several (completely expendable) servants, just to make himself feel better and perhaps a little warmer inside. This, however, hardly qualified as 'any other time'. Quite the opposite, for unless he was very much mistaken, he would have to _stop_ time.

Having finally reached his destination, he peered into the depths of the Stone. He sighed. He had not been mistaken; the fool girl had managed once again to get herself into a life-or-death situation, and now he was going to have to save her. Some days, these prophecies were more trouble than anyone could have foretold.

Sniggering at his little joke, he cast the appropriate spell over the Stone, effectively stopping time in Naomi's range of vision. Staring down into the Stone, he nearly burst with rage when he noticed that the fool girl had not even noticed what he had done. "Stupid, silly, useless little girl," he hissed, voice made weak by the effort of the spell. "Open your eyes."

She finally did so and he laughed at the expression of sheer wonder on her face. It should always be this easy.

Or not. Hard to believe how stupid she was sometimes. "Stop gawking," he whispered, "and get yourself out of the way."

It was a relief to know that he hadn't completely lost his power, as the mere sound of his voice seemed to be enough to spur her into immediate action. He released the spell, waiting just a few moments to see that the mindless brutes that were accompanying her would protect her.

But try as he might, thoughts of Naomi simply would not leave his mind. Something about her was not quite right, but he simply could not pin the discrepancy down. She certainly looked the part; Janthea would have been proud. She showed no signs of suspicion regarding his identity. Why, then, could he not rid himself of the feeling that something had departed from the natural order?

Deciding that the answer would come to him later, when he was least expecting it, he began to make his way to the library. Skimming the titles, he finally came across one that he hadn't read in the past millennium. A rather sadistic tome, if he recalled it correctly; _The Care, Keeping, and Downright Mindless Torture of Elves_

And it hit him. _That_ was what was out of the natural order. _That_ was what had been bothering him. The girl's sense of kinship, almost, with the Elf.

He felt his palms sweating against his will and gave himself of a mental shake. As he himself had said, that went against the natural order. Yet it had happened before…had happened, in fact, with one of the very men who was accompanying her, Aragorn. He was in love with the Rivendell harlot, was he not? And she had foolishly promised to become human in order to live out her life with him.

But nothing was going to come of that. No, it was not going to happen because for an Elf, the purest of Middle Earth creatures, to be in love with a Man, the foulest, was nigh impossible.

Nigh. Damn it to all the gods, _nigh_. What, exactly, was he going to do if the girl began to fall in love with the Elf? Or, worse, he with her? After all, the girl had a weak nature, one that he could easily overpower. A mental nudge there, a psychological pruning there, and all traces of affection for the Elf would be banished from her mind. The Elf, on the other hand, had a more or less impenetrable spirit.

Once again, he gave himself a mental shake. He was not even sure if there _was_ anything between the two of them, and already he was panicking. Nonetheless, it could hardly hurt to be certain.

Retracing his steps, he made his way back to the Seeing Stone. Muttering the spell under his breath, he watched as every moment of Naomi's journey thus far played out before his eyes. Yes, she taunted the Elf while barely even talking to the others, but that could be for a multitude of reasons. Gimli was perhaps too amiable; Aragorn too thick-skinned. Yes, that might very well be it.

And now to examine the Elf. There was something…off about him. He was young for his race, not even 3000 years old, but even an Elf that young should be more or less immune to the teasing of a human, especially one who was not a friend and was particularly young. Yet her comments, biting as they may be, had far too great an effect on him.

Shaking his head, he walked again to the library. Nothing would happen between Naomi and Legolas. It was impossible (all traces of the word nigh had long since left his musings) and an abomination against nature. Just because it had happened once before did not mean it was going to happen again. No. Absolutely not. He had nothing to worry about.

xxx

_In a few moments,_ Naomi thought doggedly, _my skin will come ripping off of my bones_. Daring to look into the wind, at Legolas and Aragorn in front of her, she added to herself, _I can only hope that the wind will reverse and throw my skin and bones back at them_. The Elf turned back for a moment, looked as if he was going to say something, but changed his mind and pressed on. Grimly, Naomi amended her thoughts. _Very well. Let my skin just hit that cursed Elf. _

They had been walking for several hours now, ever since the wolves had attacked. No one had felt comfortable sleeping now that this new threat had presented itself, so they had trekked on through the night. Gray slivers of light were only now beginning to peek up from the edge of Fangorn Forest, barely visible on the horizon.

Again peering forward, Naomi noticed that Legolas was gesticulating furiously to Aragorn, who was shaking his head. Unable to bear the pressure against her eyelids any longer, she brought her chin back down to her chest and began to ponder.

That they were arguing was in and of itself call for speculation. Except for the occasional spat between Naomi and Legolas, the quartet had been remarkably amicable. Indeed, Legolas and Aragorn's friendship had seemed by far the most stable. If her life had depended on it, Naomi could not come up with reason that the two would be arguing. Women were out of the question. Boundaries of race and age would be far too big for them to be interested in the same member of the fairer sex. Naomi herself? Yes, she supposed that was a possibility. After all, Legolas had been evincing doubts as to her true nature before being interrupted by the overlarge wolves.

Yet for some reason, Naomi could not convince herself that that was the reason. As much as she might mock the Elf, she was fairly certain that he would possess an ironclad sense of justice. He had been confronting her personally; she did not think that his moral standards would now allow him to confer with Aragorn before once again giving her a chance to defend herself.

Having exhausted her mental resources, Naomi decided to ask Gimli his opinion. True, he had no great perspicacity, but he _was_ a male. Perhaps the trait alone would give him greater insight.

Naomi waited only a few moments before she heard the snuffles and grunts that surely announced the advent of the Dwarf. Or several badgers, but given the terrain it was most likely the Dwarf.

He came up beside her and clapped her on the shoulder in what was clearly meant to be an encouraging gesture. Feeling that a carthorse had just run into her, Naomi gestured towards Legolas and Aragorn who were still fighting animatedly. Shouting over the wind, she asked "What do you think they are fighting about?"

Gimli laughed and beckoned for her to come closer. Naomi obliged until her ear was an inch away from his mouth. Hot, beery breath washed over her face and she made a conscious effort not to gag.

"Most likely it's about Arwen Evenstar, daughter of Elrond!" he shouted. "The lady of Rivendell! Aragorn's in love with her!"

Nodding, Naomi straightened herself and motioned for Gimli to continue. He did so and Naomi was left alone with her thoughts.

An Elf and a Man? No wonder Legolas was fighting with Aragorn; such a relationship went against everything the two races stood for. Elves were mysterious, wise, powerful and beautiful. Men were impulsive, irrational, unable to handle power and ugly. All the old stories said so. Not to mention, of course, the most obvious fact: Arwen would long outlive Aragorn. It was a doomed relationship from the start.

While she had been trapped in her thoughts, the blustery weather had died down. Throwing caution to the now nonexistent winds, Naomi raced to catch up to the Man and Elf. Attempting to look innocent, she asked, "What were you arguing about?"

Aragorn grunted and looked to Legolas. The Elf shrugged and the Man responded, "Who said we were arguing?"

It was the wrong answer, and even Legolas knew it if the way he raised his eyebrows at the sky was any indication. Turning her gaze back towards Aragorn, Naomi was about to ask him precisely how stupid the man thought she was, before Legolas put a hand on her shoulder. Aragorn walked on, clearly oblivious.

Pulling her against his chest, he bent to whisper in her ear. His breath was warm on her neck and Naomi only had time to note _No beer breath_ _here_, before the Elf hissed, "If you insist on being so nosy again, I will make you regret it. Aragorn's troubles are none of your affair, and you would do well to remember that."

Naomi nodded tensely and he released her before running to his friend. It took Naomi a few moments before she realized that the hairs on the back of her neck were still erect.

xxx

I really, really apologize for the lack of updates. Life has been an unavoidable mess recently. However, in order to get this chapter up in a semi-timely fashion, I wasn't able to proofread it; I apologize wholeheartedly for any mistakes and will do my best to correct them later.


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